


Chirp

by fraisemilk



Series: Onomatopoeia [5]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraisemilk/pseuds/fraisemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired legs. Tired landscape. They walk. He walks. The sun sets and the moon rises. There is a clock in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chirp

From his left hand was born a tree; it was no gentle green trunk that sprouted from it. It was black and grey and thorny.

From his left hand was born a fear; no flowers grew on it, except the bleak phantom of roses and austere sincerity.

 

* * *

 

He stared at the wide path of gravels, which had been turned into a blindingly white surface by the tremendous wrath of the Sun. He stared at the bleached clouds of sand raised by steps steps steps. He stared at the feet, too, moving in front of his. Left, right, left, right. Like a clock. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a clock – yet, thoughtfully, he stared at the steady rhythm, and imagined that those steps were very similar to the movement of a pendulum – if he had indeed seen one, he would have pictured in his mind a pretty clock, with wood and golden carvings. The swing reminded him for a moment of a grandma he had met once – he was young – she had wrinkles on her neck – no teeth left in her mouth – she laughed like a crow – certainly now, in her heart, had ended the relentless tick-tock.

A sandstorm caused by his left foot covered entirely his feet. Instant. Invisible feet: a man, floating in a tempest. Rock-footed soldier; lost feet; now they reappear.

Hijikata continued walking.  

 

* * *

 

To kill the monotony of incessant walking, he gazed at the landscape: the green patches of forest, the tired green of bushes, the tired yellow of burned grass, and the tired light blue of the sky. All of this, only this, all around. Not a single village here, in the big tired burning landscape, no trace of human presence except the small clouds of sand and the low murmur of rough voices.

A gulp of water was not enough to repel the heat. There wasn’t much water left; they would have to share cautiously. How many hours of walking, how many wandering hours left? Left, right, left, right. Tired legs. Tired landscape. The heat wave had long crushed him and the rest of the men, and implanted in their heads an unnerving headache.

 

* * *

 

When night came, they stopped. They decided to camp in the woods. Before, under the sun, everything was silent. Now, the stilled – hidden, charred – life howled: the crickets, the locusts and the frogs, the moths. Vibrations in Hijikata’s ears, croaking, buzzing, chirping, fluttering – a sudden _splash_ of water, not very far. The men were quiet. Between the sun and the moon, small talks reach an end. There was room now for sighs and tired peace. Hijikata listened to the hooting of an owl. He stared at the navy sky, ( _hoo hoo, hoo hoo_ ) half-hidden by inky branches. The Moon appeared. ( _Hoo hoo_ ) Bright. The owl fell silent, replaced by the distant barks of a fox. He closed his eyes. He fell asleep – listening to the clock of life that resonated all around him.

 

* * *

 

Dreams: in them, growing, a tree, gigantic. There is no clock in this tree.

In a man’s dreams was born a tree; a gentle green trunk sprouted from it. It grew gigantic and thorny. The sun took care of it;

From a man’s dreams was born a fear; no flowers grew on it, except the bleak phantom of roses and austere sincerity. The sun took the fear, brandishing it: “This clock, I will keep. Now, come walk alongside me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is very odd and very vague, but this is how i see Hijikata. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
